


The Proper Way To Be

by paperflowers



Series: Operation: Umbrella [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But has a timeline!, Drama, Gen, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Ninja spies, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperflowers/pseuds/paperflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lee Unwin is dead.  Little do they know his fate will change the lives of many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Way To Be

He received the notification just like everyone else did but not in exactly the same way  All of the other Kingsmen regularly wore their glasses, which had little to do with physical sight and more to do with the latest technological scoping and scanning protocols.  Courtesy of one code name Merlin, every single Kingsman was outfitted with a single pair of special tech glasses that looked utterly ordinary.  The technology impregnated within them was, as yet, untraceable, so even someone looking for hidden cameras, microphones, receivers, geographical positioning scanners, and the like, would find nothing at all.  There was only one Kingsman agent, codename Uther, who did not own a pair of clunky glasses.

 

Instead, he got the notification through his mobile phone which was virtually uncrackable for even the most skilled of programmers  Password protected, the only person who might be able to get into it was Sherlock Holmes, who after many months of thought may come to realise that it was a cipher of _Redbeard Pirate_ betraying his true sentiment for his often misguided, obsessive, drug addicted brother.

 

_New Lancelot chosen_.  _Lee Unwin terminated during training._

 

So that was it then.  A life passes and a new path was chosen.  Their new Lancelot, James Almos, would be a fine agent.  He was talented, bright and upstanding.  Personally, Mycroft, from what little he knew found him bordering obnoxiously confident but great skill often came with an ego.

 

Lee Unwin on the other hand, had had no ego to speak of.  Harry Hart, the Kingsman code named Galahad had Proposed him, and had put a lot of effort into bolstering the young man into both confidence and patience.  The man had been an incredibly quick study, extremely talented and just ever so slightly the underdog.  That was probably why Harry had liked him so much.  He always did love a good challenge.  Galahad would be taking this personally.

 

Lee Unwin of course, was not a Kingsman, just a prospective one, and while there would be no special drink for him, Mycroft knew a lot of time and effort into the young man’s training.  A Proposal hadn’t died during the selection process in forty years and he knew Harry would be taking it rather hard.  Harry Hart took life seriously in all its forms.  He might take it and cause it great injury but he valued it highly.

 

He leaned forward and pressed a button on his office phone.  

 

“Sir?”

 

“Cancel my appointments,” he stated.  “I have a last minute meeting to attend to,”

 

“Sir the meeting with the-”

 

“Please send them my apologies, along with our best bottle of 19th century whisky and explain it was unavoidable,”

 

“The Proposal?”

 

“Indeed.  You know how he’ll be taking it,”

 

“Very good Sir,”

 

Mycroft picked up his personal statement umbrella and left his quite frankly too small office for the things he did and left for a three story flat in the middle of London.  It wasn’t, in fact, that far from two hundred and twenty one B, Baker Street but far enough he was sure he would not suffer an unfortunate encounter with his brother.  If Sherlock were to see him, he was most likely to storm over and demand to know the reason for his presence, as though a man couldn’t possibly have any other business than spying on the great detective.  The truth of the situation would only confuse Sherlock as to why he would care about the death of a young man he had never met, and so would  fuel the belief that they were enemies in this great game of his.  His little brother did love to be dramatic.

 

Arch Enemy indeed.

 

Mycroft often had to suffer the embarrassment of being called a ‘Queen’ and other unsavoury terms whilst in company, and Sherlock wondered why Mycroft liked to inconvenience him from time to time.

 

It was mid afternoon when he decided to make a pit stop at the tailors and slip into the dining room.  With careful precision, Mycroft took the hallowed decanter and filled a flask with just enough amber coloured liquid to serve two people but go unnoticed by Arthur who would consider its consumption for a man not yet a Kingsman sacrilege.  Mycroft thought that silly and stale.  Lee Unwin had been fast on the track of becoming one of them and would indeed have beaten the now Lancelot to first place effortlessly had he survived the final selection interview.  It was not his fault Galahad had been careless and in a true Kingsman fashion Unwin had given his life for not one, but three people.  If Mycroft was a sentimental man he would have called him brave, courageous and deserving.  As it was, he called him a better man than most and concentrated his efforts on chinning up their best asset to date: Harry Hart.

 

One could argue that _he_ was their best asset, but Mycroft had never been prone to self grandeur (Sherlock would undoubtedly dispute that) and while he was far from useless in the field, very few had the grace, charm and sophisticated precision as Galahad.  Truly, it was like watching a figure skater slice up one’s competition with one’s blades when one was watching Harry Hart.

 

 

**____________________**

 

 

It was some time later that night when Harry Hart walked wearily through the door having already fulfilled his administrative duties.  Filling out paperwork from a mission was always a necessarily evil, but completing the necessary forms for a death was just gruelling.  An entire life reduced to a few paragraphs was a desolate sight.  The name was now attached to two dates, such as the life of a Kingsman, and all Unwin had achieved turned to a few black specs of ink.  And memories.  All Michelle Unwin would have were whatever pictures she had accumulated over the few short years she had been with her husband, and their child, Gary, would have only stories to retell.  He would cling to them, soaking up whatever drips his mother could offer and feel a hole for a person who would never be there.  Perhaps if she found a good solid man that ache would feel less.

 

His thoughts of Lee Unwin were cut short by a sense of foreboding when he crossed the threshold.  He knew instantly something was amiss by the way the door mat was ever so slightly off centre.  One scraping their feet on it would have caused the almost imperceptible misalignment so whomever it was had a sense of respect.  Or perhaps they didn’t want to track too much evidence.

 

Gun drawn and body coiled for action Harry quietly crept forward barely making a whisper of a sound.

 

“Maybe you should get another dog,” came a familiar voice.  “Not that he was particularly useful as an attack dog,”  The voice continued with derision.  “All he ever did was chew at the ends of my trousers,”

 

Sighing Harry straightened and relaxed.  He knew exactly who that voice belonged to and with a precise movement flipped the light switch.  Sitting at the dining table was a man in a well fitting, but not a Kingsman suit, suggesting he hadn’t wanted to run into Arthur so had it made elsewhere, was Mycroft Holmes.  “Still not agreeing with Arthur about that brother of yours?”  He asked tiredly.

 

The man’s hand was curled around a glass filled with an amber liquid, very little in fact.  Curiously though, another was set out with just as little so clearly the man hadn’t been all that thirsty, it was deliberate.   Maybe it was a subtle suggestion he shouldn’t get utterly pissed.  An utterly ridiculous notion.  He might have liked Unwin, but he hardly knew him.  

 

“Arthur still treating your Proposal like he’s lint?”  Mycroft returned.  “Have a drink,” he tilted his glass towards the other one.

 

Harry did as he was told frowning as Mycroft insisted they clink their glasses together in a silent toast.  The second the liquid touched his lips his eyebrows shot up and the glass was away from his mouth.  “Is that?  You didn’t!” Harry stared wide eyed for a moment at Mycroft Holmes who staring unflinchingly, unapologetically blankly back refused to comment.  Harry sat back in his seat.  “Well this is certainly unexpected,”

 

“Tell me what happened,”

 

“You know what happened,”

 

“Tell me anyway,” he pressed, tone and expression unchanging.  He didn’t care for Unwin.  Mycroft Holmes didn’t care about anyone.

 

Harry sighed and blinked slowly betraying his regret.  “He had a grenade,”  He said simply.  “We are trained to spot these things and I missed it.  I fucking missed it,” his hand smoothed out against the grain of the wood in an unconscious gesture.  “Unwin saved my life.  Lancelot’s and Merlin’s too.  We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for him,”

 

Mycroft remained silent.

 

“And Arthur said it was just as well,”

 

Ah.  There it was.  And that was why he was truly here.  Not to celebrate Unwin’s life or commiserate over his death (he had never met the man) but to ensure Harry didn’t start considering Arthur to be the cow dung Mycroft always suspected him to be.  He might not like the crepey old man or share his value that only the upper crust of society could hold any sort of talent (he hadn’t seen Hooper in action or any recordings of one Dr Watson saving a man’s life during heavy gunfire) but he did believe in his careful caution.  Arthur was as much a bureaucrat was he was and a strong ally in the fight against….well whatever it was they decided they were fighting against that week.

 

“Arthur is a man who does love tradition,”  Mycroft reminded him to a scoff.  “And Kingsman needs funds.  He is in a way right.  We need to obtain wealthy individuals for the simple fact they will contribute to our extreme monetary needs,”  he said coldly and factually.  “You have no idea how large a budget Merlin has, and it’s growing all the time,”

 

“One man isn’t going to bring down the whole organisation.  Besides.  It’s not like you can talk.  Your brother is far from a normal recruit even if he is from money.  He lives with barely any, doesn’t he?” Harry shot back a little rankled and sore.  Trying to hurt Mycroft’s feelings though was like cracking your head against rock.  But even rocks had their weak spots.

 

“My brother is a drug addicted obsessive of whom Arthur would find fault immediately and have him dismissed before he even started,” Mycroft replied his voice dropping though whether he was annoyed at Harry for bringing up his brother; Arthur for his prejudice; or Sherlock for becoming embroiled in such an undignified world the other Kingsman couldn’t tell.  All he knew was he had struck a nerve and felt oddly proud of the fact.  It wasn’t every day one could add ‘ruffling Mr Holmes’s feathers’ to one’s hat.

 

Maybe he should get a hat and stick feathers in it to go with his butterfly collection and wall lined with the front pages of newspapers.  Harry unfolded the one still resting in his hand and laid it flat on the table.  

 

 

ABUSED AND

LEFT FOR

DEAD

 

 

 

The headline was in bold red dripping from the page like the blood Unwin never got to spill.  The armour he had been wearing kept most of it inside, congealing to his body for the flight home.  He had a proper burial and his name, Harry had ensured, would appear in the newspaper tomorrow.  His first duty would be to visit his now widowed wife and extent whatever comfort he could and offer her a payment of sorts.  Money would be insulting and he had found favours to be far more lucrative.  One day she would need help for whatever reason and all she would have to do is phone a number, say a phrase and ask the faries to provide.  And if he could, he would, or die trying.

 

There weren’t enough people in Kingsman like Lee Unwin.  Hell, there weren’t enough _people_ in the _world_ like Lee Unwin.  

 

It did take, a special kind of person, to nickname one’s child ‘Eggsy’ he thought and wondered if it would stick.  One day he was sure he would meet that six year old, whom he was reliably informed couldn’t even pronounce his own name.  Unwin always wore a soft goofy look when he thought about it.  Eggthy, he was told, isn’t that cute?

 

There was a sharp pain in his shin.

 

Looking up he saw Mycroft regarding him with the same expression as always, but he liked to think there was something just slightly on the side of ‘innocent’ about it.  “That hurt,” he stated blandly.

 

“There’s no use in _wallowing_ ,”  Mycroft said distastefully.  “Sentiment does leave one so very vulnerable Harry dear, and you must know that as a Kingsman…”

 

“I shot my dog didn’t I?” Harry snapped back trying to make a point.

 

Mycroft gave him a knowing look.  “Surely by then you had figured out the likelihood of any injury coming to your canine was minimal at worst and extremely unlikely at best  You always were one of the quickest on the uptake, even now.  For a goldfish,” Mycroft commented.

 

“I am _not_ a _goldfish!_ ” Harry replied in consternation.  “How lonely it must be in that tower of yours.  Wind slapping your face just right?” he snarked back.  “It’s amazing you don’t have cuts everywhere Mycroft with your razor sharp wit lashing out wantonly,”

 

“Finally,”  Mycroft hailed.  “A sophisticated insult.  One does tire quickly of hearing ‘fat queen’ from one’s flesh and blood so frequently,”  he commented.  “He’s a genius.  I expected him to obtain more _intellectual_ material but it’s like talking to a five year old,”

 

Harry chuckled to himself.  Sherlock Holmes wasn’t often a topic of conversation between them but when he was brought up it was usually to insult the man.  Or comment how the Kingsmen needed a brain like Sherlock Holmes.  Harry thought they needed more Hearts like Lee Unwin.

 

“Dwelling on it will ruin his sacrifice,”  Mycroft saw Harry begin to dwell upon the happenings in that tiny, dry, arid room.  “He wanted you to live.  Don’t make that a futile desire.  Why did you pick him anyway?  I know you had multiple options,”

 

Harry sighed.  “He was bright, full of joy.  Loyal.  Could follow orders.  Brave.  He cared for people.  He loved his dog but made the sacrifice and cried when he was still alive.  He wanted a better future, not just for his family, but for everyone and was prepared to give them up to make it happen.  He treated his competitors with nothing but grace and dignity even when they were spitting on his shoes and attempting to leave him behind.  And he was the most talented fighter I’ve seen in a long time, current Lancelot aside,”

 

Harry lifted his almost empty glass in a salute.  “To what a Kingsman should be,”

  
"To how we all should be,"


End file.
